


hard times don't come until tomorrow

by mercuries



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, if u squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuries/pseuds/mercuries
Summary: this is new, mousa thinks, amongst all the other thoughts clouding his head (like how to get this damned dressing robe off). not unpleasant, not unwanted, just  new.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for a very special gal. uno who u are.

there's still the peppery scent of grilled chicken hanging in the kitchen the next morning, a gentle reminder for jan that they forgot to one, clean the dishes, and two, finish dinner. not that it was anyone’s fault really, he thinks. and if he had to blame someone, it'd be himself. maybe mousa should wear that navy blue button down with the sleeves rolled up more often. tuck them into those very _very_ skinny jeans, as jan had learnt last night, even more often.

jan pushes the buttons on the tassimo once he's replaced the capsule, and listens to the numbing beeps that follow as he clears the table. he lets the water in the sink run over the plates for a while, up until the coffee has a generous layer of foam on top, a second from overflowing. moving the mug, he repeats the process a second time; a coffee for himself.

it's barely afternoon and the sun splashes into the kitchen, brightening the white tiles on the walls. jan’s fingers make quick work of the latch on the window and pushes it open, a tiny gust of wind immediately biting at his ears. it's too late to hear any birds singing but too early for any real bustle, that blissful, albeit fleeting, purgatory between relaxation and responsibility.

mousa joins him in the kitchen and sighs as soon as he spots his the cleared counter. but his frown melts easily into a grin, lopsided and toothy. jan only glances at him for a second, then two, and then he’s pinching mousa’s hip from underneath that same navy blue button down and kissing the soft skin behind mousa’s ear.

“morning, mous,” he murmurs quietly, even if it's just the two of them and he could yell if he wanted. “you okay?” mousa doesn't really reply, instead he tilts jan’s head towards his and smiles against his cheek. jan didn't shave and his stubble prickles against mousa’s lips. so he smiles a little more. it's good enough for jan.

“the chicken was really good, you know,” mousa’s voice is still gruff and low, like it always was in the mornings. “it’s a shame we didn't finish all of it.”

“i kept a menu. if you wanted to order again.” and then when mousa drops his head onto jan's shoulder, “your coffee’s there.”

“mmm, thank you,” he taps the coffee maker in mock appreciation and gladly takes the poke in the ribs from jan but still squirms. “did you want to go out for breakfast?” he drops into a stool at the island in the centre of the kitchen.

“breakfast?” jan raises an eyebrow. “a little late for breakfast, no?”

“it’s never too late for breakfast jan.”

jan studies mousa while he drinks, the way his nose dips into the mug at an off angle and his fingers around the handle and his full lips hugging the porcelain and-

“you're staring, jan,” mousa doesn't even look up at him.

“no i’m not,” he lies. “and even if i was,” he puts his mug down and squeezes both of mousa’s shoulders tenderly, “you like it.” still serene, he brushes his nose against mousa’s curls, then rests his head there.

“you're impossible.”  mousa finishes his drink and turns his head upwards to catch jan’s lips in a chaste kiss, leaving his mug on the counter. jan, unexpectedly, deepens it, his hands moving down mousa’s arms slowly. it isn't until jan moans heavily that mousa pulls away, massaging the back of his neck.

“ouch.” but jan has already spun the stool and he presses his lips to mousa’s again, his thumb caressing the corners of his eyes. mousa’s arms snake up to wrap around jan’s shoulders, and then he's off the bar stool and completely melting into jan, again. he grins when jan hooks his little finger into the band of mousa’s boxers, which triggers a light shiver when jan makes contact with his skin. proceeding to walk him into the wall, jan's lips move from mousa’s mouth to his jaw, then his chin, before reaching his neck. he sucks a bruise right below the one he left last night, and mousa groans and buries his hands deeper into jan's dressing gown, searching for the loose, soft belt that held it wrapped up around him. jan's touch is rough and persistent, up to the point it draws heavy sighs from mousa _already._

mousa is still raw and pleasantly tender from yesterday, but when jan's like this, and it takes a lot to get him riled up, mousa just wants it. he wants everything jan can give him.

jan is something else in bed. he can do things with his tongue that make mousa’s eyes roll to the back of his head and things with his hands that make mousa shake and crumble. he bites and scratches and he _knows_ , he knows exactly what to give mousa. two weeks ago they nearly got caught having sex in toby’s car and mousa _still_ thinks about how much of a turn on it was. even if it was a little cramped- they are both just over six feet- but whether that was a true inconvenience was not an argument up for discussion.

right now though, jan still has him pinned against this wall and whatever he's doing with his mouth is going straight to mousa’s cock. in desperation, mousa’s hands grasp weakly at jan's hair.

“didn't i tire you out enough last- oh my god, _jan_ -” the futile attempt to tease jan fails because jan's pressing his thigh up against mousa’s crotch, nudging his semi hard penis with his knee. once his hands shrug the shirt off mousa’s shoulders, his lips glide down to mousa’s clavicle. jan bites down, mousa yelps.

“god i’m gonna fuck you so good.” he murmurs against mousa’s skin, “want you to say my name like that again. wanna - _mgh_ \- make you feel so good.”

is jan…talking? telling mousa what he wants? but more importantly, what he wants to do to him? this is new, mousa thinks, amongst all the other thoughts clouding his head (like how to get this damned dressing robe off). not unpleasant, not unwanted, just _new._

the belt eventually does come undone around jan's hips, and then the entire dressing gown falls to the floor too. jan grasps the back of mousa’s right thigh and lifts his leg to hook up against his hip, and his body buckles between the wall and jan. mousa swears.

it's an odd time of day for jan to initiate anything. they'd just fucked last night, for heaven's sake, and mousa knows jan has a lot more self control. he also knows jan is insatiable. sometimes when mousa sees jan all he wants is to get down on all fours and have jan pound him into the mattress. other times all he wants is for jan to make love to him. hold him close and kiss him lazily, let his hands roam over every inch of his skin and melt completely into him. jan obviously replicates what mousa wants, he just picks his moments. like now. mousa is starving but he can't just ignore the fact that jan's dick just twitched against the innermost part of his thigh. and that jan, dreadfully quiet during sex jan, was murmuring positively filthy things against the bruises he'd made last night. without showing any signs of stopping, not that mousa wanted him to.

“i want you to take me, mous- i know how well you can take me. yeah.” mousa whines. jan’s mouth is clamped against the junction between mousa’s neck and shoulder. “you like it like this don't you?” mousa feels jan's smirk on his cheek, just before he nuzzles mousa’s beard. mousa thinks, maybe he _does_ like it like this.

“oh. my. god. bedroom now, jan,” his voice comes out strangled and breathy, significant breaks between his words as jan reverts to crushing their lips together. yearning, mousa’s fingers thread in and out of chestnut locks. moments before he breaks away, jan sinks his nails into mousa’s hips, drawing a sharp hissing sound from him and he closes the space between them.

“why not here, hm?” jan's eyes are fixated on mousa, all those dizzying blues spinning like tornadoes that mesmerise him. between each syllable, jan jerks his hips against mousa’s, the pads of his fingers reaching into mousa’s boxers, to touch, to squeeze. his face is still achingly close to mousa’s, so close he can see how ginger jan's beard is, all his freckles and blemishes, and all his little gold eyelashes.

“what, here?”

“yeah.” jan nudges his cheek with his nose.

“we can't.”

“hm?”

“jan you know why we ca- _aah_ -” jan's fingers pinch and twist mousa’s nipple, “fuck. i’m not joking. now.” mousa yanks jan's hands away from his body and jan grins toothily. as much as he won't admit it, he _loves_ being bossed around by mousa. just as much as he loves bossing mousa around.

they leave the shirt and gown in puddles on the kitchen floor and mousa’s grip on jan's wrist doesn't loosen until he's finished storming up to their bedroom. the first thing he does is shoves jan down onto the bed, which is still unmade. he drapes over him, then cups his ass as he peels jan's boxers off. jan is smiling now, running his fingers through mousa’s curls, while mousa presses down on the thick vein on the underside of jan's cock with the base of his hand. jan gasps.

“i had to get you to shut up somehow,” mousa says, “since when do you talk like that.” he kisses the inside of jan's thighs wetly, licking a slippery trail of saliva up to his dick, before taking its entirety into his mouth. moaning, jan just about releases a coherent response.

“since you said i needed to - _ah_ \- be a little less boring during sex.”

“i said that?” mousa lifts his mouth from sucking the tip of jan's dick.

“not _exactly,_ but you implied.”

“how. you know toby knows about his car.”

jan sits up suddenly. “he knows?” mousa gives him an exaggerated eye roll and shakes his head. “of course he knows.”

“seriously mousa? and you tell me now?” mousa would reply but his mouth is otherwise occupied, and jan's already forgotten about the mere idea of toby even guessing who did what in his car two weeks ago. mousa has his tongue pressed flatly at the base of jan's cock and as one hand massages his hip bone, the other caresses his balls. jan's rubbing appreciative- no, _encouraging_ circles at the back of mousa’s neck and only stops when mousa does.

“what- what are you doing?” jan says when mousa frowns at him.

“so where's all your dirty talk gone now? come on, tell me what you're gonna do to me."

oh. _oh_. jan was not expecting that. it was fun, downstairs, making mousa whimper and watching him writhe. here though, is a totally different story. mousa’s cheek is resting on his thigh and his dick is right next to his lips, his pretty, cherry red lips, and it's no question who’s in control. heck, mousa still has his boxers on. when jan had the chance to get him naked, he should've.

had? he _still_ has the chance to get him naked. he still has the chance to wriggle him out of those white boxers and palm him to climax. but not with mousa between _his_ spread legs, no.

“deal.” he grasps mousa’s shoulder and loops his arm underneath his armpit, feebly pulling mousa up towards him. luckily for him, mousa gets the gist of things, clambering over to kiss jan, who doesn't seem to mind where his mouth was just seconds ago. from here, jan can get a proper feel of mousa’s ass, and strip him from his boxers. mousa’s hand tightens on jan's jaw when he does, and his lips mould into a smile jan can feel on his own mouth.

“nothing, still? you can even see my dick now,” mousa quips, but he's quickly flipped over and pushed up against the mattress. his arms waste no time in snaking around jan's middle, and jan wastes no time in getting the lube out from the bedside table. he slathers enough on two of his fingers on his right hand, and with his knee, spreads mousa’s legs and thighs apart.

“oh i know,” jan replies with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, then leans in close to mousa’s face. mousa takes this as his cue to clench his legs around jan, and as soon as he does, jan's fingers are probing the crease of his ass, still sore. their cocks are aligned together on mousa’s stomach, tiny beads of precome spilling and dribbling down to collect somewhere on their balls. mousa’s hips thrust instinctively upwards when he feels two of jan's fingers press against the rim, but then back down when jan chuckles into his neck.

“you want me that bad, huh? bet you wanna feel my cock buried deep inside you right now.” jan twists his fingers and pushes them further until they're buried to the hilt. mousa squirms and moans. jan's fingers spread for a second, and mousa grinds his hips against them. they crook and curl inside of him and mousa just about manages a weakened “jan. please.”

“jan please what?” a third finger. this one's raw but it doesn't take long for it to slick into the heat, and having jan's three fingers inside of him drives mousa crazy. he grabs a fistful of jan's hair and tugs. jan's playing dirty, like mousa asked. it's not exactly the most ideal way mousa would want lazy afternoon sex to go, but _god_ does jan have a sexy voice. which screams that the sex is going to be far from lazy.

“jan, please fuck me. just- now. i need it now.” mousa swallows heavily and it doesn't go unnoticed; jan takes the opportunity to bite down on his neck and suck yet another mark into mousa’s caramel skin. “jan- come _on,_ ” it's only a low murmur this time, which dwindles into a sigh as jan's fingers buckle inside of him then spread again.

“imagine,” and jan's voice is up in his ear this time, teeth mock biting mousa’s earlobe. “imagine if i could get you off on just my fingers. without even touching your cock. or mine. you'd want to come so bad, but i wouldn't let you touch yourself.” jan is so confident now, his words fuelled by watching mousa’s eyes roll to the back of his head and his eyelids flutter shut when every syllable escapes his lips.

“yeah. remember that time you said you'd tie me up and ride me if i let you?” mousa chokes on his own saliva at the memory. “i’d tie you up now. i’d turn you into a bigger mess than you already are, have you screaming and moaning my name until you can't bear it any longer and you beg for my touch, for my fingers-” jan's voice stops when he feels mousa grab their cocks together with one hand, the heads slippery with precome against each other. “quit teasing,” mousa just about cuts him off.

blue eyes meet brown, and mousa watches jan's jaw slacken as he runs the tip of his nail along the slit of jan's cock. jan moans lowly, and thrusts up against mousa’s hand, before shaking his head and withdrawing his fingers.

“no, mous. no touching. at _all_.” jan lifts his hips and for a second, mousa envies the cold air between them because the head of jan's dick is barely grazing his ass, any closer and he is positive jan would be inside him completely, but no. it takes jan a good five seconds of just taking mousa in; his mouth slightly ajar, eyes darting from mousa’s straining, swollen erection against his stomach to the bites and bruises peppering his neck and shoulders and chest, and that impatient, mischievous borderline offended expression on his face, before he thrusts his entire length into mousa’s gaping hole at once. mousa curses loudly, raking his nails down the ripples of muscle in jan's back. combine how sore jan had left him yesterday with his current rough, brutal pace, and mousa can tell he wasn't going to be walking straight for a couple of days at least. this really isn't one of jan's better ideas.

“fuck,” it's jan's turn to say. his voice is somehow unchanged, clear and precise still. “you know, i could fuck you raw, mous. it'd feel so good. i know-”

“enough, please. just- _oh_ \- fuck me, jan.” mousa somehow manages. jan doesn't need to be told twice. he captures mousa’s mouth into a kiss, perhaps symbolically showing that he had, finally, decided to shut up. mousa kisses back, and rolls his hips with what little energy he has in time and sync with jan's movements, which have slowed significantly. maybe mousa was getting his lazy afternoon sex after all.

he prefers it like this anyway, because he can feel every inch of jan inside his body, all of his skin mapping out over his own, every breath they share and exchange. he feels whatever sun is spilling through the window he is soaking up, every tiny kiss and unscripted graze of skin a singular silent declaration of love. it's cheesy, and he'd never tell jan because jan would never let him hear the end of it, but it's _them_ , when you skin all the superficial nonsense and incomplete promises that are only there for show, really.

mousa’s back arches into jan when he hits _that_ spot; it doesn't even take jan long to find the angle. aside from his low growls and moans, jan is almost absolutely silent, which mousa likes equally as much. if anything, mousa’s doing a lot of the talking now, between grasping handfuls of brown hair and bites on jan's jaw.

he's smiling fiercely into jan's shoulder when jan's fingers curl around his cock and stroke him once, twice, but it doesn't take much for him to come, with a subdued moan and countless wet kisses dotted along jan's neck. jan comes after him, into the sheets instead, shutting his eyes for a brief moment and letting mousa’s hands roam over his skin, before rolling over and bundling mousa into an embrace.

“you know, i have to shower again now. and i’m still very hungry.” mousa mutters against jan's chest. their knees knock and mousa squints up at him when he gets no reply. jan just shrugs and mock zips up his lips, to which mousa can only roll his eyes and smile, that gorgeous, thousand watt smile, and he picks an imaginary key from behind his ear to imaginary unzip jan's stupid, stupid mouth.

“better?” he jokes.

“ _much_ better.” jan doesn't wait a second before taking mousa’s hand into his, and kissing the palm, the wrist, each of his fingers. “you, mousa dembélé, are a godsend.”

“a hungry godsend. where's that menu?”

jan locks their calves and thighs together. his hand reaches up to caress mousa’s cheek, all the little creases beside his eyes and the dips and curves near his mouth.

“it’s downstairs. i can order if you like.”

mousa nods. his eyes never leave jan's, still entranced by the warmest blue he's ever known.

“yeah, please. same as yesterday.”

“sweet potato mash?”

“no, jan. regular potato.” he playfully slaps jan's cheek. jan brings them closer, grinning. “love you, mousa.”

mousa scrunches his nose up. “menu, jan.”

jan drops a kiss on mousa’s forehead before mimicking him, untangling himself from mousa and standing to stretch. when he turns to leave the bedroom, mousa mock whistles, to which jan laughs heartily.

“love you more,” mousa calls out behind him, and there it is, mousa emulating the corny, sappy couple they are. he shuts his eyes and relaxes into the bliss of mid afternoon, napping for mere seconds until he feels jan tackle into his ribs.

 


End file.
